


Meant To

by hellostarlight20



Series: Together [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Innuendo, NOT a baby!fic, Romance, prompts, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Rose somehow end up protecting the next leader of the planet in their efforts to stop a looming war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meant To

**Author's Note:**

> @goingtothetardis requested Ten x Rose #42: “I swear it was an accident.”  
> The warning from the last prompt still stands: I’m now on really good cough medicine. (It has a controlled substance warning and everything!) Beware!
> 
> Rated T+ for innuendo  
> Not a baby!fic  
> Loads of idioms and phrases

“This is your fault,” Rose hissed.

“How is this my fault?” the Doctor yelped as they raced through the courtyard.

The courtyard of the Fifth Dynasty of the Jivarines House of something something—Rose stopped listening after that. It was all very long winded and tedious. But she’d dutifully nodded as the steward or herald or whoever droned on as they stood in front of the queen or ruler or whoever she was.

“You were the one who waved it all off, nonchalantly flinging your hands—” very beautiful hands if she did say so (but never aloud)—“around like some magician.”

“Rose Tyler—” He stopped suddenly and pressed her against the stone wall just outside the interior herb garden. The lavender—or herb similar enough to lavender—tickled her nose and Rose hoped she didn’t sneeze.

“Don’t you Rose Tyler me!” She didn’t shout the words, much as she’d like to. They were being chased, after all. And his body pressed hard against hers and she really tried not to think about that. Okay, she momentarily tried.

What was the use in setting herself up for failure?

“I merely suggested that protecting the House was a simple enough job,” the Doctor said in a reasonable tone. But he didn’t raise his voice and pressed closer to her.

“And by protecting the House, did you even _think_ they meant the literal next in line to the House?” she demanded, once again careful not to shout.

Still, the sleeping child in her arms mumbled and stirred. Rose froze.

“That—that—I swear, Rose, that was an accident,” the Doctor insisted.

But one hand left her shoulder, where those lovely long fingers she tried (not too hard) not to admire, had stroked the side of her neck, and brushed the blanket from the sleeping doyen’s face. His little nose, scrunched up and his mouth fell open.

“Oh, little one,” the Doctor whispered no louder than a breath. “What have you found yourself in the middle of?”

“A civil war, I’d say.” Rose looked down at the beautiful little boy, all golden skin and perfection.

A pang of—longing or pining or wishing—clenched her heart, but she (mostly) firmly ignored it. No sense wanting things that would never happen. What was that saying? The one about wishes and horses? Rose never understood it, but whatever it was about if wishes were horses, she thought it fit.

“We better get back to the main audience chamber,” she whispered and tore her gaze from the Doctor’s long fingers on the little boy’s scrunched up face. “We can’t protect him out here.”

“No,” the Doctor agreed. “And we were only supposed to take him to his father, anyway. Travadians are very protective of their offspring.”

Rose frowned up at him. “I thought you said they were Jivarines.”

“They are, well his mother—” once again the Doctor broke off. His brown eyes widened and he was so close to her, Rose thought she’d be able to count his freckles.

Really, she preferred to count them with him maybe stretched out beneath her (or above her, she’d take either), but alas that didn’t look like it was ever going to happen. Pity.

“If his mother is Jivarine,” Rose said and bounced the baby slightly in hopes he’d go back to sleep, “and the father is Travadian, then it’s not a civil war, it’s a war for—what? Supremacy? Do the Travadians want to take over Jivarine?”

“Don’t know,” he admitted and grinned. Then he grabbed her cheeks, those long, beautiful fingers cool against her temples, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Rose forgot how to breathe. Or what purpose words had. Or why anything mattered save that wonderful touch.

Huh?

Oh. Right. Stopping the war.

“So Janita Jivarine wasn’t just asking about upgrading her protection,” Rose realized. She looked down at the little boy. “She was asking how to stop the war.”

“Hmm,” he hummed and eased back. Damn. She rather enjoyed the way his body pressed against hers, even if there was a baby between them. Okay, really, really enjoyed.

The Doctor looked down each side of the courtyard and grabbed her hand. Rose juggled the baby one handed, keeping the little one’s neck and head braced against her shoulder. He didn’t fuss, which she counted as a win-win situation.

“Was this forced?” she whispered. “Do you think she was…raped?” She stumbled over the word and hoped with everything in her that wasn’t the case. “Or is it one of those Shakespearean love affairs where the couple sneaks off and everyone dies?”

“Let’s hope it’s not either,” he whispered back. “For right now, let’s worry about returning the little doyen to his mum. They can sort out their politics afterward.”

“His mum gave him to me,” Rose needlessly reminded the Doctor. “Well us, to keep him safe. What use is taking him back to her?”

“Because I have a feeling she only did that to throw off her advisors.”

Rose blinked and pulled him to a stop. She narrowed her eyes at him. “And you’re only now telling me that?”

“Just figured it out,” he said. But the Doctor tugged his ear. Rose narrowed her eyes a little more. “It was you, Rose, who gave me the idea! Brilliant minds and all.”

“What else do you see?” she whispered.

It hurt him to look at specific timelines; she suspected that went back to the Time War. Any war called a time war had to mess with one’s time abilities. But she knew he could, if necessary.

“I think he’s a very special boy,” the Doctor whispered back, his own voice cracking.

His thumb caressed the back of her hand and Rose tightened her grip around his fingers. She wanted to reach up and touch him, pull him close and hug him tight.

“When we get out of here, after seeing the little doyen safe and making sure there’s no war going on, you owe me a nice dinner out.” Rose looked over her shoulder and adjusted the baby once more. Had she heard something behind them? “I don’t mean chips; I mean a nice dinner with wine and chocolate cake.”

“Rose Tyler,” the Doctor said and pulled her closer. He kissed her forehead again, gently this time, his lips lingering. Was that her sigh? “I’ll take you to the greatest restaurant in the galaxy with all the wine and chocolate cake you want.”

Her skin tingled from his touch and she wondered he couldn’t tell from the minuscule distance he stood. She wanted to say something like _promise_ or _you better_ or something witty, but he stood so close her words dried up.

Rose licked her lips—was that her imagination that his eyes flicked down to her mouth? No, right? Not her imagination. She did it again, with the same results, and felt a surge of—

The baby cried.

Of course he did. Because timing around the two of them usually went to hell in a handbasket. (Another saying she didn’t quite understand, why a handbasket, and what exactly was a handbasket, a basket for your hand? A basket for hands—ewww. And why would one go to hell in one?)

“Right then, Rose!” the Doctor said a little too cheerfully.

Rose looked up, and was that him tearing his gaze from her lips to meet her eyes? She grasped that hope with both hands. And, okay, she knew what that meant. And she sure as hell (and why did her mind insist on coming up with phrases she didn’t understand the origins to?) wasn’t letting go.

Not today. Not ever.

“So, plan?” she asked. He almost looked shocked and she grinned, purposefully teasing the side of her mouth with her tongue. Definitely not her immigration. Kudos to her! “Return the doyen, figure out the dynamics to the political couple, stop a war or a rebellion or a coup or whatever, and have dinner?”

Rose leaned closer, still patting the baby’s back, doing her best to soothe the poor thing. She did not, however, miss how the Doctor stayed perfectly still and—was that? Why yes, it was. He leaned closer to her, too.

Double points to her!

“Dinner, you, me, a romantic overlook with wine and chocolate?”

“Yes.” He barely whispered the word then swallowed hard and stepped back. But not, she noted, away from her. “Oh, yes, Rose Tyler.”

Definitely a win-win.

And of course they saved the day, reuniting the happy couple in a very non-Shakespearean way to rule the planet without any threat of war.

Then it was off to dinner, which Rose very much looked forward to...


End file.
